Forbidden Swine
by notbwnope
Summary: It starts as a tale of forbidden love between a bastard and a piggy... but quickly evolves into an action story of suspense, sexy times, Dolorous Edd, and just wait for chapter 15 and probably the best crossover of all time.
1. Chapter 1

The night was cold that evening. Winter was finally coming to the wall, and Samwell Tarley knew just how to keep warm. He gathered up his blacks and left his cell to head to the laundry. Ghost was waiting in the hallway.

"Where's Jon Ghost?" Sam hesitantly asked. The wolf always frightened him without Jon nearby. He would never adjust to his presence.

Ghost turned and stalked away. Sam followed, stumbling, bumbling, and dropping a few of his things in the process. He followed him down a few short corridors; apparently Ghost was heading to the laundry too. What luck, Sam thought!

Sam walked in and found Jon down to his shorts and possibly half drunk to boot.

"Jon? Is everything alright?"

"Sam. You know I've always wanted to go digging for gold in Mole's Town. These past few months I have yearned for what I just cannot have, the touch of a woman."

Ghost padded to the door and nosed it shut. Curious, Sam thought, he'd never seen the wolf act this way before. He turned around to see Jon pulling his own blacks from the wash and hanging them up to dry.

"These will take hours to dry Sam, what will we ever do to kill some time?" Jon enticed.

Sam held his breath... could it really be? What he had never dared dreamed of since his Lord Snow stuck up for him? Since Ser Allister the mighty cruel knight cursed him as Ser Piggy? Sam took the hint and quickly disrobed, carelessly tossing his clothes into the wash tub.

Sam turned back to Jon, slightly bumping him as if an accident. He gently brushed the hair back from Jon's forehead and leaned in for that first sweet forbidden taste.

"We can take no wives, have no children, but damn them to the Others if we can't enjoy this," whispered Jon to Sam.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam's cheeks blushed a deep pink. His lips parted expectantly. Jon's dark eyes gazed down at him with hunger as he let his hands fall along Sam's body. He felt his fingers move across the rolls hanging off of Sam. He let his fingers trace up his arm and back down again. He grabbed Ser Piggy's hand and ran it along his own chest and down the nether regions of his body. He moved Sam's hand along his cock and felt it stiffen at the light touch. Sam began to grasp harder. There was a desperate look in his eyes to please this man.

He ran his hand up and down Jon's hard Valyrian steel, gasping at the sheer size of it. Oh Lord Snow, thought Sam, am I in for a treat tonight. He gave a few quick strokes and turned himself around, ready for anything. Jon stepped up and whispered in his ear, "Grab your ankles, Ser Piggy, it's time to do your duty for the realm."  
Sam gasped as he gently entered him. He opened his eyes and saw Ghost in the corner, staring at him, accusingly. Sam felt ashamed, yet yearned for more.  
"Please don't stop Jon."

Jon grunted in satisfaction, once, twice, thrice. He didn't know how much longer he could take it; it had been so long, and he never dreamed that the fat folds of Lord Tarly would be so plump and accepting. Suddenly, Ghost howled. He looked up and saw Ghost scratching at the door, and then the door slowly started to crack open...


	3. Chapter 3

Quickly they disentangled, composing themselves as best they could, Sam panting heavily in distress and desire. Grenn entered the laundry room, seemingly unaware of what lustful scenario had been playing out. Grenn ever was a dense man and nodded a hullo to his black brothers before too stripping down to wash his clothes

"Looks like we all have dirty stuff to deal with tonight," he said with a self-satisfied chuckle. Jon did indeed have something dirty in mind, but his clothes were not the objects of his sullied intentions.

"Well lads I'm off to my rooms. I have a few things that require my attention tonight." He wrapped his cloak around his taunt lean body, catching a confused glance from Sam as he also pulled on his boots and strode purposefully to the door, preparing for a sprint across the yard in his indecent state of dress to his warm chamber. Almost as an afterthought he turned back to his soft little Sam. "Sam come up to my chambers if you have time tonight. I'd like your help with something." Jon wanted to leave the option to refuse open for Sam. He felt guilty for taking him so roughly earlier, so caught up was he with his own wanton desires. If he came tonight Jon would make it worth it - he just hoped Sam would come, but Jon was a Stark and Starks are made of sterner stuff. They do not beg.

Sam nodded in understanding to Snow, still reeling from the first encounter. He would go. Gods knew he would. Jon was the only man ever to truly understand him. He would give him whatever he wanted. He waited a half hour, feigning interest in a dull conversation with Grenn before excusing himself. He had already adorned himself in two spare cloaks and his boots. Hesitantly, he knocked on Jon's door. "Come in Sam," came Jon's deep masculine voice. He entered nervously and shut the door. Jon was already striding across the room to him, candlelight throwing shadows over his muscular abdomen. Sam withdrew slightly, intimidated by Jon's intense stare.

Jon held out his hand and cradled Sam's soft quivering chins."Don't fear me Sam...I would never hurt you. I'm sorry about before... it was thoughtless. You mean more to me than that...much more." Jon bent down, placing soft a kiss on the fat man's mouth, groaning slightly as Sam immediately melted into him. "I'm all for you Jon. I've always wanted this...make love to me," panted a breathless Sam.


	4. Chapter 4

And he did. The next morning, whilst entangled in the dirty sheets of their spent juices, Sam and Jon dozed, unsuspecting. Little did they know, someone had spied them during the heat of their passion. Ser Alliser Thorne had silently glanced through the window while passing by the night previous, having heard the most strange sounds - sounds one rarely hears on the Wall. He had them now. Ser Piggy and the bastard himself. What a sick, depraved situation, he thought. Now, just how to play it to his advantage?

Ghost nudged the sleeping duo, arousing them from their peaceful slumber. "What do you have to do today?" asked a doe-eyed Sam. Jon glanced at him, not wanting to divulge his thoughts. "Oh, this and that. The Bear has a million tasks. I best be going quick, actually." Sam reached in to kiss him, but Jon turned away to pull on his breeches. "Is everything... alright Jon? Did I do something wrong?"

"No... I'm just busy today, I'll see you later." He rushed out, leaving a confused, befuddled Sam on his lonesome. As Jon was pulling on his coat, crossing the yard, he stumbled into his nemesis, Alliser Thorne. "Watch where you're going, bastard. And by the way, you best heed me now Snow, I know what you did, and I will expose it all unless you see fit to shape up."

Jon panicked, locked gazes with Thorne for a half second before turning away, "I don't know what you're talking about," he mumbled. "Oh, yes you do. Rolling in the mud with the pigs Lord Snow? I hate you, yet even I thought more of you than that." Jon quickly hurried towards the mess to get the Bear's breakfast.

Later that day while taking a message to Sam for the ravens, Jon found himself alone once again with the fat boy. Time for some quick satisfaction? He wondered... Ser Alliser's threat troubled him, yet he yearned for Ser Piggy's plump behind once again. "Sam, quick, I have a message to send and must return quickly, the Bear has more errands for me today." Sam was flustered; thinking he had done something to upset Jon this morning, he was hardly prepared for his swift advance. He sent off the letter on a raven and followed Jon behind some stairs to a dark corner. "Quickly Sam, I must return."

Sam felt somewhat hurt at the lack of concern for his feelings, but how could he ever deny his Lord Snow anything? He bent to his submission, hoping it would go easier this time.


	5. Chapter 5

Sam realized he could not deny Lord Snow anything, but he could not submit himself to such degradation. Jon's passionate side was becoming overwhelming, and he realized that if Jon cared anything for him then he would show him some more affection. He gasped as he felt Jon's hovering cock. He flipped around and asked Jon to wait.

"What is it Sam? Is something wrong?" Sam gazed at him. He pulled his breeches up. He ran his fingers around Jon's muscular abdomen. He traced the lines cut into his deep chest. His blue eyes flickered shyly up to Jon and back down again.

"Jon. I love your passion for me. I do. Truly. But I need more. I need a connection with you. I need to know you're in this for more than just my physical being." Jon looked down at him with a quizzical expression. Sam's blue eyes pierced into his own. He could feel an inkling of something rising up within him. He felt himself shiver as chills moved up and down his body. Could he truly love another man? He could see the man's love and devotion to him. He could see that Ser Piggy would be his forever. He was his black brother. They were forever connected in ways that no one could possibly understand. Why not in this way too? There was a fear in Jon, though. Already he and Sam had been careless in their entwined endeavors. He wasn't sure if this type of behavior was ready for the Wall. The wall was made of cold men. Men that were composed of ice and steel. Their acceptance would be as frozen as the far north with no hopes of ever thawing.

"Jon? I'm sorry, Jon. I can't...can't...Gods..." And with that, Sam gathered himself and pushed past Jon. Jon stared after him. His dark eyes searching for an answer. The overshadowing question running through his mind was whether he was ready to love someone or be loved.


	6. Chapter 6

The rest of Jon's day passed in a haze of worry and stress. He had a job to do, what came over him? He regretted his decision to give into a heated night with Sam. He had never felt that way before, especially not with a man. What was Thorne going to do? What would his father and brother say if they ever found out? A sick feeling crept into his belly and would not leave. "What have I done to myself?" he murmured into his bowl of bean and bacon stew during his midday meal. The hearty aroma of the dish doing little to entice his dwindling appetite, as he poured over his irrational behavior. Yes he cared for Sam, of that there was no doubt, but to make love to a man? He had joined in with the men on several nights cajoling around the mess hall and remarking on Renly Baratheon's affinity for his little peach, Ser Loras, and how no proper man could ever delight in the flesh of another man. Yet here he was, steward to the lord and commander on the Wall and the son (if only a bastard) to Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, and he had fallen into bed with a gentle pink boy from the south and had reveled in his flesh.

Every time he tried to drive out the impure thoughts, they would overtake him again replaying in his mind's eye. The way he moaned in pleasure as Sam's lips wrapped his lips around his sensitive length and pulled him toward the edge of release, so slowly Sam sucked him Jon thought he may die with the raging need to grab him by the hair and pound into his warm wet mouth until he found his escape from the torment. But the torment was what he reveled in, and so the night proceeded, shaking his head free of the unclean thoughts

"By the old Gods Jon..stop this," Jon scolded himself aloud, turning around, bowl still full as he passed it to Dolorous Edd, who proffered the bowl with a suspicious glance and narrowed his eyes at Jon. "Never was a sane man give up his bowl 'o stew, unless there be somethin' wrong with it.. did the cook put prunes in it boy? I'm always getting pruned. I figure everyone here is trying to prune me all the time, just for fun." He sighed in self pity and began spooning the thick substance into his mouth.

Leaving the hall with Ghost, he knelt down to pat him behind the ears, glancing about the yard where the men trained, sliding his hand over Long-Claw, thinking some time with a sword in his hand may help clear his head. He stood and trudged through the snow to the armory to see if anyone of the new boys needed some practice or if there was anyone around to spar with...


	7. Chapter 7

... Sam looks up at him as if he can't believe what he has just heard. Jon reassuringly leans into him, brushing his cheek against Sam's and whispers into his ear "Come to my room Sam." Instantly Sam feels a hunger deep in his abdomen down to his groin. Jon turns to leave and Sam follows watching the sway of his lustful body with every stride. Jon opens the door to his room and looks back at Sam and offers a smile as if to say "Yes Sam, I want this." Sam steps into the room and gently closes the door behind him. Jon stands across the room as Sam admires this beast of a man that stands before him. "What's wrong Sam?" Jon says concerned. "I have yearned for this Jon - if you make love to me this way there is no turning back for me." "For me neither Sam." Sam walks toward Jon and Jon steps forward to meet him half way. As they meet, Jon takes his hand and leans in to kiss him. Sam can feel Jon's erection against his thigh as he parts his lips inviting Jon's tongue. Jon, lost to passion, obliges. Sam begins exploring Jon's body with his hands, admiring every curve. He slowly puts his thumbs in the band of Jon's shorts. "Let me take these off for you Jon." Sam kneels down in front of Jon kissing him just above his navel and down his happy trail, slowly lowering his shorts revealing his manhood that stands at attention for him. "I want to taste you Jon." As Sam takes him in his mouth Jon lets out a sigh as if he has been longing for this, longing for Sam. Sam is all too eager to satisfy his Lord Snow. Jon reaches down and places his hands on each side of Sam's' head, moving his hips to the motion of Sam's' mouth. As Sam takes him in harder, his tongue circling the head of Jon's' cock and down his shaft, Jon thrusts himself deep into Sam's' mouth, and he starts to convulse. "No Sam! Let me inside you," Jon says, almost ready to erupt. Sam stands before Jon and begins to undress himself as Jon watches with a hunger in his eyes that Sam has never seen...

Jon jerked awake from the fanciful dream... what had happened? His head was aching something fierce. "Corn. Corn." That damnable crow, waking him from his slumber. Why am I looking at the sky? He wondered.

Jon slowly realized he was lying on the ground, limbs askew, surrounded by a group of his black brothers. "That was one hell of a shot you took there, bastard," chuckled Ser Alliser Thorne, "How's it feel to be taking it and not dishing out the punishment for once?" Jon knew he was mocking him, yet dared not give in to his rage, least Thorne expose his secret shame and desires.

"Alright lads, it's all over. Get back to your duties," grunted The Old Bear. His crow hopped up onto his shoulder, hoping for an afternoon treat, "Corn?" Pyp and Grenn grabbed Jon, pulling him to his feet. Mormont stalked off to find some corn for the bird. "The new guy really got you a good one there, finally met your match Jon?" goaded Pyp. Jon glanced over to see who they spoke of, barely remembering the last few hours except for that glorious dream of his Sam. The new brother wasn't at all what he was expecting - short, stocky, and in fact, nearly as fat as Sam. Jon wondered how this portly fellow could have bested him... was he that distracted by the feelings coursing through his very being?

Suddenly Sam rushed into the yard, breathless after the short run. "Never seen you move like that Piggy," goaded Alliser. "Someone spill a bowl o' beans? Or you just concerned for our Lord Snow here?" He asked with a knowing grin. "M-M-M-Maester Aemon sent me as soon as we heard... I'm t-t-to take Jon back to his quarters, he thinks he c-could have a concussion." Sam glanced around, nervous.

"Well go on then, lovebirds, leave the fighting to those who know how to handle real steel." Allister winked at Jon as he hobbled off supported by the fat lordling, Ghost padding along at his side silently. "Are you ok Jon? I never thought a new recruit could do for you in a fair fight, is everything alright?" Sam sheepishly asked, knowing full well the emotional turmoil he had been putting him through. Never would he admit it, but he secretly enjoyed being an object of lust, especially for the Lord Snow, outcast Stark and would-be king of the North.

"I don't know what happened... can barely remember anything, except this wonderful dream..." He let the statement hang there, waiting and hoping for Sam to query further. When he just blankly stared at him, Jon sighed and shifted onto his back. "Do you think you could rub out my muscles Sam? I'm aching something fierce after that fight." Sam was happy to oblige, finally feeling like this could be something meaningful, something great. He got up and grabbed some oils off the shelf and set to task.


	8. Chapter 8

Sam looked at the oils he had collected. He frowned at the bottles. He only needed one. Olive oil. It was great for the skin. He'd read about it in his many adventures with books. "Sam?" Jon inquired.

Sam glanced over at Jon lying on his stomach. His back rippled with muscle formed during his practice in the yard. His eyes washed over the prominent muscles that outlined his shoulder blades and defined his sculpted back. "Just give me one moment Jon. I need to acquire some salts." Sam replied.

Jon's dark curls swiveled around and he faced Sam. A small smile hinted at his juicy lips. Sam could see the intensity in his eyes. His eyes traveled up and down Sam's physique as he nodded quietly to Sam. Sam murmured that he would not be long and left the room.  
Sam traced his hand along the wall of the castle as he strode down the stairs. The surface was smooth with some rough edges here or there. The strength of the stones reminded him of Jon's back. He pictured himself running his hands along his back. He could feel the curves of Jon's muscular back rippling under his fingers as he pushed deeper into the muscle. He could hear Jon's soft moans and feel him arch into his fingers. He moved quicker down the flight of stairs and toward the baths. He entered the bathhouse and found the lavender salts he was looking for. He breathed in deeply and sighed inwardly. He knew these next moments of his life were going to be some of the best he could ever hope to have.

When Sam entered the room again, Jon had kindled a fire to a blaze. It was warm and inviting. Sam's blue eyes twinkled off the firelight as he smiled at Jon. Jon grinned at him. "I'm quite cold Sam. Please, come here." Sam obliged. Jon reached down and ran his fingers along Sam's cheek. His dark eyes gazed into Sam's as he parted his lips and kissed him gently. Sam felt himself mold into Jon as the kiss became more intense. He ran his tongue gently along Jon's lips. Jon groaned. Sam pushed away from Jon and grinned. "Lay down Jon. You're tense. Let me help you with that."

Jon stepped back away from Sam. Sam eyes gazed at the cut figure of Jon. His torso was extremely well built. Sam ran his finger along the lines that made up Jon's abdomen. His skin was soft and pale. He ran his hand along Lord Snow's side and felt him wince. Sam recoiled a bit but looked up at Jon. Jon smiled coyly and shrugged. Sam pushed him back to the furs in front of the fireplace. Jon kissed him again and lay down on his ripped stomach. Sam knelt beside Jon and poured some oil along Jon's spine. He rubbed the palm of his hand into Jon's spine. He moved his hand gently along the bones of his spine. He moved his wrist in slow circles. He felt Jon's low groan under the pressure of his palm. He spread his hands out and pushed his fingers into Jon's soft skin. He moved his hands along the ripples of Jon's back and felt Jon move gently beneath them. Sam grabbed some of the lavender salts and poured them onto Jon's back. He moved his fingers along every cut line on Jon and rubbed the salts into him with gentle intent. Jon rolled over and pulled Sam into a deep kiss. Sam could feel Jon's hardened member press into his thigh as Jon pushed his tongue through Sam's lips...


	9. Chapter 9

Jon felt Sam tense and questioned him softly, his breath grazing over Sam's left ear and sending chills of anticipation down the larger boys spine.

"What's wrong Sam?" Jon's voice had a dark husky tone that sent chills up through Sam's shoulders, the need pushing though him like a river rushing over a dam. If he didn't stop now, he never would. "Jon I can't keep doing this. I don't know if you really want me, the real me or if this is some sort of consolation prize because we can't have women. I'm risking just as much as you here. I need to know what is going on in your head. What do you feel for me?" The words fell from his mouth, and this time Ser Piggy found some foothold of confidence because he stood up and pulled his hand away from Jon's lean body and leveled his gaze on the man before him.

Jon sat up on his elbows and listened to Sam's tirade, growing ever more irritated with him by the second and not fully understanding why - but the anger was there growing in his chest and spreading though his body. His lips twisted into a scowl and his eye narrowed.  
Silence engulfed the room and a miasma of scorn descended upon both men - Sam unwavering in his strives for dignity and acceptance; Jon steadfast in his refusal to admit what had been happening for the past few days.

Jon's thoughts consumed him as he stood up, wincing at the renewed pounding in his head. He drew himself up, squaring his shoulders and tensing his jaw in anger. He was not that much taller than Sam, but at the moment Sam felt like a mouse in the shadow of a giant, a brave foolish little mouse, but a mouse nonetheless. Jon inhaled deeply and took a step up to Sam.

Jon's response was a harsh angry whisper. "Do NOT demand answers from me Sam. You have no right. You are in the same position I am. You cannot expect me give you more than this…right here." He gestured to himself and the chambers they were in, fire popping quietly in the corner. He reached up with his right hand and prodded Sam in the chest accusingly, but his tone lost the edge of anger. "You're my friend Sam, and I don't want to hurt you, but stop trying to analyze this. I won't do it." Jon pulled on his shirt and cloak and boots and was gone in an instant.

Sam was left alone in the room, hands still moist from the oils and the perfume of the salts in the air. He sat in the chair by the fire place and wept. Wept for himself and the unrequited love he had no control over and wept for the loss of his friend.

Later that evening, Jon ate with Grenn and Pyp in the kitchens. After inquiring briefly about Jon's injury, the talk turned to Mole's Town. The underground brothel was to be their destination that evening, since neither man had watch that night. Then and there Jon saw his escape - he would go with them and forget about this catastrophe he had been part of. Pyp looked at him in surprise, but did not question it. Lord Snow's view on honor did not often contain whores, but even the strongest trees lose some leaves in the deep white north. If Jon wants to warm himself in between the thighs of inequity, that was his decision.

The trio departed on with the excuse for going hunting. Everyone knew what they were doing and what they were really hunting but said nothing, all men on the wall are guilty of breaking this rule and turn the cheek to anyone who does so it will be reciprocated when the time comes.

Upon arriving in the brothel, Grenn and Pyp disappear quickly with two homely looking women, all smiles and giggles in the face of the young crows coming for a meal only they could provide. Jon slumped at the bench in the front of the brothel nursing his ale and his honor. A young women sat down quietly beside him and put a hand to his cheek to turn his face to hers. Jon turned to her and glanced suspiciously at the women who halted his dissent into self pity. She was very pretty, dark hair held back loosely and wisps of her ebony tresses cascaded down her naked shoulders. Her dress was modest and unrevealing in itself, but she had the front unbuttoned to a dangerous level, and the way she straddled the bench with her dress hiked up over her thights left no question to her purposes.

"Feeling lonely Ser? Would you like some company?" She eyed him demurely from beneath her lashes. Quite the trick for a whore. Her accent was of the south, perhaps kings landing, but Jon didn't care where she came from. He finished his beer quickly and looked her up and down. This, he hoped, would get his mind of his current failures, and she wouldn't question his intentions. He smiled and nodded "Yes, I would love some company."

She guided him back to her small room, the moans of pleasure and lust echoing from the other rooms, accompanying them on the journey down the hall. He sat back on the bed and watched her remove her clothing, eyeing her soft breasts and aching to taste them.

**Sam.**

He shook his head from the thought of the fat boy as he watched the whore undo his laces and free him from his pants and begin to stroke him to his fullest before lowering her head to taste him. Jon leaned back on his elbows and closed his eyes slowly, thrusting up to driving deep into her mouth, breath becoming ragged as he began to relax.

**Sam.**

He grabbed her with a grimace as he pulled her mouth off his cock and pushed her back on the bed, intent on freeing his mind from its burden between her creamy white legs. He jerked his pants down and pushed her legs apart and looked at her feminine body, as she stared up at him, yearning for more. "This is what I want. A young girl on my cock squirming beneath me," he reassured to himself as he entered her with a groan, her body tight and wet around him.

**Sam**.


	10. Chapter 10

Sam glanced up sharply from his papers, the echoing of the horn still in his ears. Ooooooooooooeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee eeeeeeeeee. He braced himself for a second blast, ready to leap into action should wildlings be attacking, but thankfully it was just the one. He ambled over to the window to see who was returning. It looked to be Qhorin Halfhand with some rangers, and not alone. There were in fact wildlings... captives, if he was not mistaken. He should probably go find out what was happening. Sam never thought being the eyes for Maester Aemon would entail such a huge amount of walking around, and his stubby legs ached something fierce by the end of most days.

He stepped into the yard and found Dolorous Edd with some other brothers. "Looks like the Halfhand brought us more mouths to feed. Sure.. we got plenty enough food for ourselves, why not bring home some wildlings to feast?" he grumbled, "I know who is gonna end up going hungry tonight."

Sam looked over the ragged arrivals, noting with surprise some women and children even. Not captives then, surely? Qhorin was in a corner of the yard deep in talk with the Old Bear. After a few minutes, Mormont motioned everyone around to listen up. "Alright lads! We have some folks here seeking sanctuary, strange as that may seem. Yet, the tales they tell are disturbing and not to be taken lightly." He gestured to some black brothers, "You men, see to it they have food and lodging." Dolorus Edd grumbled and set about his sorroful duties. "Might as well give up my bed, I'm not like to get a bit o' sleep tonight now."

"Sam!" Mormont bellowed. Sam glanced from Edd quickly, "Y-y-yes sir?" The Old Bear walked some of the others to him. "Take these girls and put pen to paper of the account they tell. I have a feeling the Maester will soon want to set some ravens to flight as well." Sam gestured for them to follow and lead the way back to the tower. Once inside, he went about gathering up supplies, somewhat wary of the girls. They were just girls, he told himself, but they were wildlings... who knew what kind of things they had done or were capable of. He shrugged off his double robes and prepared to recount their tale.

"By the way, I'm Sara and this is Cara. We're sisters, and kin to Tormund Giantsbane, so don't try anything fishy with us crow," she scowled. "Sister, calm yourself. Look at the fat little crow, I think you scared him half to death." Sam gaped at them, his jowls quivering, trying to think of something to say that wouldn't draw insult. After a few silent moments one of the girls gave a sharp laugh, he couldn't tell which, and the tension broke. Sam sighed and got ready to write.

"Relax crow. We don't want to scare you, we want to help you. We wouldn't be here if it wasn't dire," he thought it was Cara who spoke this time. Sam glanced up, "Just what happened? Tell me what to write." The girls glanced at each other, seemingly unsure where to begin. Finally one began to speak, while the other started pacing around the room. "Two nights ago they came. We had made made camp after a day of hunting and were just settling around the cook fire when they came. A good 15 or 20 of them. Wights. White walkers, crow. Cold as ice and bright blue eyes." Sam gulped, scribbling fast. "They took apart most of the camp like they were nothing. Slew near 12 of us before we were able to escape, just us and a few others. The screams of the dying we left behind as we ran for our lives."

Sam shivered, frightened just by the telling. He jumped and squealed a second later when the girl who had been pacing slumped over his back to see what he'd put to paper. "Gods. You really are a soft one aren't you? I thought the Wall was suppose to make men of you green boys," she giggled. "Leave off Sara, I sort of like him. He's jolly and plump. Looks like he could warm a bedroll alright to me." She glanced at Sam, who coughed nervously into his hand. "You think sister?" They exchanged a knowing glance over the fat southern lordling.

"Um.. we should probably f-f-finish. The Maester will want to hear of this at once."

"Nonsense crow. My sister wants a nice roll with a plump boy, and my sister gets what she wants. Always."

Seem meekly glanced around, trying to think of a way to extricate himself from this truly awful predicament. But wait, he thought... maybe he could learn a thing or two from these wildlings... things to win himself back into Jon's good graces? The things Jon had done and said truly hurt Sam, yet he knew there was something there. Something worth fighting for, if he could just make Jon believe it too. Mayhaps he could just close his eyes and pretend it was his Lord Snow.

"Well.. ahh.. I s-suppose if we are quick about it. They'll be expecting us back soon for supper though, and Maester Aemon will need this report..." he trailed off. One of the twins grabbed his rotund belly, the other his arms and ripped his shirt off, buttons flying into dark corners. "My mom gave me that shirt," Sam sputtered. "Quiet crow. Let us get about this business. It's been many a cold night for me and my sister with no one to warm our blankets." Sam's fat white folds spilled out and Cara gave them a slap and laughed. "Look how they wobble sweet sister. Never have I seen such a marvelous sight." She bent to lick his small pink nipples and Sam gave a girlish laugh, squirming in her grasp.

"Hold him Sara. Pin his arms. I won't have this crow flapping about while I work," she laughed as her sister grabbed him. Sam weakly struggled as she took down his trousers. "My my... look how cute it is. At least this one knows how to wash, not like the ones you usually pick out." Sara gave a hiss into Sam's ear, "Be still, boy. Let my sister go about her business. Sam slumped, all the fight gave out of him, and resigned himself to be used by these wildling sisters. "Just please, be gentle. I'm not experienced in the ways of the world."

The girls cackled at that. Cara bent and placed his pink manhood into her mouth, slowly beginning to stroke him. Her sister Sara stayed behind him, no longer holding him in place, instead massaging his fat folds and whispering into his ear. He couldn't understand a word in ten she was saying, the old tongue, he thought. It didn't take long. Jon was a greedy lover, and these past few days had left Sam unfulfilled, taking what he wanted with nary a thought to giving pleasure himself. After a few minutes Sam tensed in his seat, started to say something, but the girl Sara planted her mouth on his in a deep kiss. Cara quickened her pace, and seconds later he started to come. She quickly jerked away, laughing as he seed shot onto his soft round folds and the table, the note he'd been working on. Sara pulled away a moment later, laughing along with her sister.

"That was good, quick. Now you will last all the longer when the real fun begins," Sara said with a devilish grin. She pulled her small clothes off, while her sister went to have a swallow of water. "Hurry crow, get hard. We don't have all night, remember?" Sam was in a daze, never knowing it could be like that. Jon never even told him. He gave himself a shake, great waves of fat slick with sweat despite the cold outside.

Then a knock at the door, and without waiting for an answer, Dolorous Edd backed into the room carrying a tray with some steaming trenchers and mug of hot spice wine. "You don't come to dinner, so the dinner comes to you," he said, still backing up, being careful not to bump the tray. The girls quickly donned some robes, small clothes still scattered about the room. Sam glanced away from Edd to see them looking at him expectantly, gesturing to cover himself. He bent to find one of his robes, but Edd turned and came up short.

"Well, I've seen some impressive sights in my day, gods know I have... but this, Sam. This could just take the cake." Edd chuckled and placed the tray down. "Well?" He asked.


	11. Chapter 11

Sam tottered to his feet as quickly as his mass would allow, quills, ink and papers clattering to the ground as he grasped his robes to him in terror. "Edd, I don't know what happened. You have got to believe me. It all happened so fast. I wouldn't have let them do it, they were speaking old tongue and casting spells on me! I couldn't think straight!"

He raised an accusing finger at the wildling pair, mouth agape in surprise at being caught, literally with his pants down. The girls visibly shrank back away from the pudgy whistle blower who was singing like a bird the tale of seduction and manipulation they had plied on him.

Edd closed the door behind him with his foot and narrowed his eyes dubiously at Sam. "O sure sure, you get locked in a room with wildlin' girls and they just can't stop but rip your pants down and treat you like a fine cut o' steak on a poor mans plate. Never happens to me. Nope. Mark my words, I was watching a pair of wildlings one time and you know what happened? They shit all over the floor, made a huge mess. And guess who got in trouble fer it? Dolorous Edd. Guess who had to clean it up? Dolorous Edd. How is it I have to clean up the mess? What was I spose to do? Hold em' over the chamber pot and offer em treats for getting it right? Well I ain't got no treats, and If I did I'm not giving them to wildlings, but they probably would make me feed them to every wildling scrap that come round here and I'd never get any fer meself. And you know what? Now every time the commander goes in that room, he curses my name and makes me scrub the floors again, saying he can still smell it. Probably he'll be smelling it till I die, probably I'll die cleaning that same floor"

Edd shook his head slowly as he pondered his bad luck in life, eyes sliding over to the girls.

"You two get dressed and head outside, someone is ready to take you to a room for the night while we try to figure out what to do with you, and try to keep your hands to yourself. I'm forgetful in my age, but If I come across any problems with you I may just remember what happened here and have to report it to the Lord Commander. He doesn't take well to wildlings tempting his crows on The Wall." The girls nodded in understanding and quickly set to the task he put them on and exited the room without so much as a glance in Sam's direction.

Sam had somehow managed to gain control of his basic motor function in the wake of his shock and closed his mouth and lowered his hand and drew in a very shaky breath. "Edd I was.."

"Sam, whats done is done. Everyone steps in a pile of horse shit now and again. No point in talking about it, but remember I never want to hear or see anything like this again." Dolorous turned after setting down his tray amongst the chaotic table top and strode out of the room.

Sam pulled on his clothes while thinking over all that had transpired. He had basically just been man-raped, and, while the sensation the girls made him feel was indeed extremely pleasant - he could attest to that with the way his tunic was sticking rather unpleasantly to the front of his stomach since he had not had a chance to wash off his 'physical expression' of those feelings before Edd barged into the room - the women did not strike the spark in him the way Jon did. He wanted Jon holding him down while whispering words of passion into his ear, slowly undoing his laces, eyes darkened with the promise of the pleasure that was to await Sam as Jon slowly lowered his mouth. "Stop that," Sam squeezed his eyes shut to block out the powerfully seductive image and maintain focus. No, he still wanted Jon. Only now, he knew the pleasure got from the wildlings would be exponentially greater and more ground breaking with someone he actually wanted to be with and wanted him. Also, it didn't hurt if that person had an attractive scowl and a powerful body that seemed chiseled from a pale marble pillar.

Sam, face flushed with thoughts of Jon's body, sat down and began correctly documenting a very detailed description of the story the wildling girls told. After a time the first rays of sun washed through the narrow window. He stood and withdrew from the room, collecting all his notes and organizing them before turning them over to the proper people before heading to the mess hall. He was feeling a little odd, maybe a meal would quiet his upset nerves. The erotic episode with the girls, his encounters with Jon, then the story of the wights Sara and Cara told and he had to recreate on paper... everything was weighing him down.

The hall was the center hub for all gossip on the wall, and it was abuzz tonight with a scandal indeed guessed Sam as he filled his plate and sat down alone amid the din of voices chattering at several tables before a disbelieving gasp and a snort of laughter gave way to a shout of "No way... Lord-my-honor-is-as-strong-as-the-north-itself.. Jon Snow?" Bread was falling out of the spectral maker's wide grin. All other faces at the table nodded enthusiastically along with him. Jon Snow was the center of the gossip.

Sam's stomach dropped. 'Did someone find out about us?' he wondered. He glanced around and saw no one looking at him strangely; and he greeted a few on the way in, so they knew he was there. 'So no not that then. Something else must have happened. What could it be?' He searched his memory, but the last time he saw Jon was the day before when he confronted him about his feelings and Jon stormed out angrily. Sam eyes began to prickle oddly with wetness at this memory as his heart beat increased with the emotion brought forth by this memory.

"HEYYYYY SAMMMM!" Sam glanced over his shoulder to a group of men waving at him idiotically. He turned back to his food and blinked back the tears. No, he didn't want company. Just ignore them and they will stop.

"Sammmm! Come HERE!"

They were still waving and beckoning him, and now everyone was looking at him. "SAM! SAM! Hey SAM, do you HEAR ME?!"

He could feel it. Pressure. Judging eyes. Fractures where beginning to appear in his nonchalant facade. Pressure. Eyes.

"SAMWELL TARLY! SAM COME OVER HERE!"

He cracked and gave a resounded sigh and pushed back and trudged over to the pack of morons to sit among them with a questioning gaze.

"... What is it you guys?"

The men broke into a tale of Jon Snow venturing out with Grenn and Pyp the night before 'to hunt' and returning just before dawn. Grenn and Pyp had just left the mess hall before Sam came in and told tales of Jon and one of the woman going at it all night. Hearing them through the walls in the unbridled thralls of need and desire. Jon's deep cries of ecstasy echoing off the brothel walls, with the feminine squeals of rapture he caused to spring from his woman's mouth.

The men nudged eachother's shoulders and smiled broadly, fists pounding the table. They were proud as if they had done it themselves. Some ventured to play act some of the scenes from the story, mimicking the hip thrusting motions and making a slapping gesture with their hands while grunting. Others laughed at them and used high-pitched soprano voices to mime the cries of the whore. "Oooooo... Lord Snow show me how to be a proper lady!" They burst into a fit of giggles that would shame a group of maids, continued the discussion. "I heard Grenn say Jon didn't pay nothing and she thanked him for teaching her so much," voiced one man. "Pyp says she couldn't walk and kept hanging onto the walls asking if he would come back soon," said another. The smut-filled story continued with or without Sam wanting it too. He sat in silence, food untouched.

Sam was dead. No. He was not dead, because death was where you were free of pain. Sam was in hell. His heart was in his throat at the retelling of the story over and over again. Jon's hours of passion at the hands of a common whore.' How could he be so upset with Jon when he had participated in similar events with Sara and Cara just hours ago?' He wondered ' No, he justified to himself, that was a surprise attack from two women who out maneuvered him, and all it did was rectify the feelings he had for Jon. His Lord Snow had gone willingly to the bed of a whore and reveled in her flesh all night. He used her like a whore, and he had used Sam like a whore on the nights before. Sam was nothing but a big fat stupid whore to him and that's all he ever would be.

After what he deemed a reasonable amount of time, he excused himself and went back to his chambers, his mind self destructing in on itself as his thoughts kept going over Jon's night at the brothel.


	12. Chapter 12

After lighting his fire and wiping himself down with a warm wet rag to get the sweat and grime from his used body, Jon climbed into his bed. "By the old Gods, I'm tired Ghost," he muttered as he ran his hand over the wolf's thick coat. The wolf looked back at him and curled up beside his body, Ghost's monstrous frame taking up a large portion of the bed.

His frolic with temptation had started roughly, unable to get his mind off of Sam. His fat friend kept invading his thoughts, making him feel guilty and ashamed. That all fell away as he dipped deeper into the pools of malfeasance and let his worries go with the flood of lust. He drowned in his pretty little whore. He pounded into her and made her beg him for more. He took her in every way possible and still did not relent. It was liberating to forget his worries in the throws of the euphoria her malleable body brought him. He was still riding on the blissful wake of his night, but the reality of what he did loomed in the shadows, and he knew it was coming. Everyone would know what he did soon.

Grenn and Pyp were waiting for him with wide eyes when he exited the room and went to mount his horse. They wanted to talk to him, he could feel it. They wanted to share in a masculine banter with their brother, but his stern, frown, and quick pace back to the wall kept chatter down, and he didn't accept their offer to break his fast with them and quickly went to his chambers. Everyone would know soon, and he would hate himself for it he thought, as he drifted off to a fitful sleep.


	13. Chapter 13

Sam sat in his chambers for what seemed an eternity. The fire blazed in the hearth and Sam gazed at it, feeling nothing, but the deep gaping hole where his heart once was. His eyes flickered with the flames as he turned the thoughts of his foolishness over and over in his mind. How could he have thought Jon would want anything more? He huffed to himself. No matter how many times he went over it in his mind, he could not bring himself to feel anything other than a void. After all the abuses and rejections he'd suffered through the years, he could not do it anymore. The side that cared had disconnected and the Sam had gone numb. He laughed lightly to himself as he stood up and grabbed his furs. He tottered to the kitchens and took some hard bread and cheese. He was still laughing loudly now to himself as he walked into the stables and began saddling a garron. The last the Wall would ever see of Sam was his shadow galloping off into the haunted woods laughing maniacally.

* * *

Jon rolled to his other side as the sun pushed through his window hinting at illusive warmth that was never present on the Wall. Ghost nuzzled closer to Jon. Jon yawned, taking a deep breath. A putrid smell invaded his nostrils and he sat up.

"Ghost!" Jon yelled.

Ghost's red eyes regarded him coolly. Jon shook his head. A knock came at his chamber doors.

"Jon! JON!" Grenn screamed. Grenn opened the door without invitation. There was a panicked look on his face as he slammed the door shut. As he drew in his next breath, the putrid smell also invaded his nostrils. "What the…" Grenn began until he noticed Ghost's head swivel around to regard him coolly as if in challenge to finish the last of his sentence. Grenn threw his hands up in submission and looked at Jon.

"Jon. Sam has gone. No one knows where he went. His chambers are empty and there is a garron missing from the stables. One of the boys said he heard some weird sounds in the stables last night, but he was too scared to investigate." Jon frowned wondering what would prompt Sam to do such and thing and coming to the conclusion quickly. It was his fault, he did it. Toying with Sam's emotions had taken their toll on the fat boy. He sat up and ran his hand over his brow in frustration and sighed. "Alright Grenn, have you told Mormont Yet?"

Grenn shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah the Old Bear is the one who told me to come wake you. He thought maybe you knew where Sam went. He has been acting very strange lately come to think of it." Jon pulled his legs from the blankets and placed his feet on the cold ground. "Yeah Grenn I know. It's my fault. Sam and I had a…" he inhaled and lifted his arms over his head, trying to stretch his muscular back and prepare it for the burden of carrying another heavy load of emotions with the day ahead. "We had a disagreement the other day, and you know how Sam can be. He didn't take it well. I'm afraid he's done this because of that, but I will go get him back. He probably just went to the grove of Heart Trees to pray." Jon stood, placing his hands on his lower back and still loosening his muscles, the tight ridges of his abdomen contracting and expanding as he tried to wake them up.

"Ok Jon, I will tell the Bear, he's going to send some Rangers with you. After the story the Wildling girls told, Mormont is taking no chances."

Jon set about getting dressed for a day beyond the wall. He saddled his own ride and prepared the Old Bear's as well. "Jon."

Jon turned on his heel. Mormont was standing in the doorway. He was dressed in his usual blacks with a sable cloak lined in a blackish grey fur. His wizened face looked disconcerted and tired. Jon nodded to him and addressed him appropriately as warranted Mormont's station. "Jon. I cannot go on the search for Sam with you. In fact, I can only spare two, and Pyp and Grenn have offered their services. Look Jon, I don't know what happened between you and Sam, but Sam has good character. He doesn't deserve to be alone out there. It's not safe for him. Especially him. Bring him back Jon. And safely."

Jon nodded slowly. A look passed between the two of them. It was a look of assumptions and accusations. Jon turned to Lord Mormont's mount and began to unsaddle it. He led his own out into the cold, desolate winter that belonged forever to the Wall and north. He knew that the Old Bear told him to await the services Pyp and Grenn had offered, but he needed to be alone. He needed to clear his head. He mounted up and whistled to Ghost. He trotted to the gates and began a journey that would change everything for him.

* * *

Sam pushed and pushed his garron into a harder gallop. The trees whipped past his head and even ran against him. He had cuts lining his cheeks and forehead. The snow that was kicked up by the horse was as wild as any winter blizzard as he pushed himself to his riders' will. Sam had a hard look on his face. His eye glistened with tears, not from the event that had recently transpired, but from the biting cold numbing his face. Sam expected his horse would burn out soon. He had been pushing the thing for almost half an hour. What Sam did not expect, as the he felt the garron's leg catch on a log and snap, was spilling over at the feet of a Wight. Sam looked up into the cold blue eyes of the creature. It looked at him with no passing emotion. The last look Sam would conjure with any meaning was a grin. He had accepted his fate. No. He had embraced it as he felt the dead, black hands rip into him.


	14. Chapter 14

Jon had little trouble following the trail Sam left. Gods, he thought to himself, even Maester Aemon could follow this trail easy enough. Ghost kept pace with him easily. Sam had a few hours head start at least, but Jon had little doubt about being able to catch him up soon enough. He wasn't on his way to the grove of Heart Trees like he originally thought. In fact, he didn't seem to have any destination in mind, nothing at least Jon Snow could think of that lay this way. After a few quick hours he found the scene where it happened. Sam's horse was down, obviously dead. Ghost padded over to him and sniffed around before shying away with a growl. Besides it's broken leg, it looked like some savage creature had eaten out its throat. All Sam's meager supplies lay scattered about, but no sign of the fat lordling. Jon heaved a sighed and dismounted, some vague notion about searching for clues running through his troubled mind.

A few minutes later he heard Pyp and Grenn finally ride up. "Don't bother waiting for us Lord Snow, no, we can take care of ourselves. Even an aurochs could follow that trail, and luckily I had Grenn here with me." Pyp chuckled, but they both came up short when they caught sight of the scene of bloody slaughter. Jon gave them a quick glance while taking his own mount. "There's not much to see, but Ghost seems to have caught Sam's scent from his cloak. Let's get a move on, I don't want to imagine what happened here or what might be happening to him." Ghost trotted off and they kicked their horses to follow.

* * *

Sam thought he was dead. Finally, he thought, I've been put out of my misery. No more longings for the forbidden Bastard of Stark to worry about. No more tolerating Ser Alliser's cruel japes. No more long, cold nights with nothing but hard bread and beans to feast on. Just let it all end. Why does death feel so achy? Sam peeked his eyes open, he could barely make out that he was in some deep cavern, bound hand and foot, thrown into the corner of some type of cell. Others were gathered around him - not The Others - just what appeared to be some wildlings and free folk. He sat up with a start, finally remembering his horse falling, landing nearly on top of the Wight and passing out from fear. He glances around, trying to take in the whole situation at once, got dizzy, and slumped back against a wall.

"Look, the fat crow is awake. Hey crow - will your brother's be out searching for you? Any chance we will be rescued before they turn us all?" The speaker was a young boy - really no more than 10 or 11. What looked to be his mother quickly grabbed him by the ear and pulled him away from Sam. "Your pardons, black brother, he's a willful child. We are all a bit frightened, just wondering if you know what they are up to? Why slaughter half of us and carry back the rest to this awful place? Any idea where we even are? Or what is to happen to us?"

Sam shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. "Turn who what? What did he say?" The lady and the rest looked very troubled, but Sam just gazed at them with his little inquisitive piggy eyes, searching for the truth. "I don't know much, probably not any more than you. I thought I was dead... was hoping..." he trailed off, realizing he was thinking aloud. "What's this business about turning people? I thought Wights were just the dead brought back by The Others after being killed somehow? What is happening?" Sam was confused. He wishes Jon was here; Jon would know what to do and calm him, he always did.

Everyone was staring at him. He hated when people stared, he knew they were all thinking about how stupid and fat he was. His father always said so. A few seconds later the giant cell door clanked open, standing in its place was a huge foul, dead thing. It must have been a giant once, Sam thought. He stood at least nine feet tall, dressed up blue and grey and white rags. He didn't say a word, simply stared a few moments, then slowly raised his hand to point out a few people. One was the boy who had spoken up, another his fretful mother, who gave out a retched sob, one last a small wiry man who didn't look long for this world. The three didn't question, they meekly started following the creature out. He turned to go, but suddenly his eyes flared blue and he turned back, a grin seeming to split his face apart. He pointed once again, this time right at Sam. Lord Tarly would be ashamed, Sam thought to himself as his bladder let go and he soiled his smallclothes.

* * *

After around an hour following Ghost with hardly a stop, they came upon the entrance of some sort of cavern. The three dismounted and tied up their horses to a fallen oak not far away. "Ok... let's not be stupid and rush into anything. Gather up some wood, we can make a few torches." Jon pointed in a few likely spots and Grenn and Pyp walked off to gather some wood. Ghost seemed agitated, anxious to head down into the caves. Lord Snow spared him a glance before starting to unpack supplies from the mounts - most anything he could think that would be of help. 'This is really turning into one of those save the fairy princess stories Old Nan used to tell to Sansa' he thought to himself... but this time he was the prince, and Sam the fat, noble princess. How romantic, he chuckled to himself.

"What's so funny?" Pyp pipped up, returning with some branches. "Here's your fags Jon..." Grenn added, glancing askance at Pip and giving a none-so-subtle wink.

Jon paused a moment, "Right... uh.. let's go. I've gathered everything - rags for bandages, rope, what food is left... let's just go." They descended into the cavern, Ghost and Jon in the lead with his Valyrian steel and a torch, Pyp taking the middle with most of the supplies and Grenn the rear guard armed with a long spear. It was a bit slow going, trying to be as quiet as possible, with Green especially. But after a time, they finally saw some light ahead and snuffed their own torches. They got down onto their bellies to crawl the rest of the way, finally getting a decent view down into a bit of a pit, stairs off to one side for normal descents. "Off to the left," whispered Pyp. Jon glanced and saw some people being ushered into the pit, his lovely fat Sam among them. There were all sorts of strange infernal-looking devices scattered around the large pit, Gods along knew what they were all for. Way up above was a hole in the ground, or ceiling rather here thought Jon, open to the cold night sky.

"Looks like some sort of ritual or somethin? What you suppose they mean to do?" Grenn whispered to them. "Dunno, but we better not wait to find out... Sam's likely to die from fright if we don't do something quick." Jon whispered back. He scooted back from the ledge, gesturing the others to do the same, ready to formulate some type of plan. What would my father have done here? Or Uncle Benjen? Surely they would know what to do...

"Corrrrrrrrrrrrrrnnnnn" they all froze, they knew that damn bird. "Snnnnoooooooooowwwwww..." it echoed, and they realized it was coming down from above, flying down into the cavern from outside. They all glanced at each other, holding their breath. Then Ghost decided for them - he leapt off the edge down the steep slope into the pit, landing among the hostages and wights. Then all hell broke loose.


	15. Chapter 15

As the strange screeches faded into the twilight, Sam's eyes widened in disbelief. He recognized the dire wolf immediately. Ghost bristled at the Other. The Wight seemed unmoved at the wolf's large size and intimidating demeanor. He lifted his dead black hand in the air and gestured to some unknown in the shadows. The hope in Sam's eyes disappeared as he watched about 13 different wights appear from the shadows around the ring. The large wolf made a sound unlike any other that could have been heard from such a beast. It was between a sigh of resignation and a threatening growl. Sam glanced around him. There was no way out for the wolf. He looked up into the trees and thought he saw the shadows moving. As he glanced back down, there was a moment he would never forget. Time would slow for him and he would resign himself to a fate he never could have dreamed. He looked at Ghost as Ghost's red eye met his in desperation and jumped when the arrow pierced through that left eye. Before Ghost hit the ground, Sam could see an accusing look cross through the remaining red eye. It was done. His fate was sealed as Ghosts. Sam numbly looked in the direction of the arrow and saw the culprit crouching at the edge of the pit. His face was torn in such a way that he looked like he had a cruel grin crossing his features. The remnants of his clothes added to the mockery of the moment given they were the clothes of a man dressed in motley attire. The bells on his jester hat tinkled as he jumped down. Ser Piggy sagged back. He felt a coldness shove him forward to an ominous table with restraints and dried blood stains.

* * *

Jon wanted to scream and gasp as he watched the scene unfold, but Pyp and Grenn held him quietly. It all happened too fast for him. Ghost was gone. The beast was an extension of him. He was a part of Jon that Jon will never have again. Jon felt a quiet rage growing inside of him. It was a rage that would overtake the sadness of his being when the moment had excused itself from time, becoming only a memory to fuel Jon's revenge.

"C'mon Jon," Pyp whispered, "There is nothing for us to do here. We must go."

* * *

It had been going on for what seemed like hours. Probably it was only about 45 minutes now. Sam was feeling pain he never knew existed in parts he never knew belonged to him. The creature assigned to this task called himself Glokta. He shuffled everywhere he went and had a habit of cracking his back which he had informed Sam didn't matter anymore because he could no longer feel the pain that he had once felt. He was different from the other Wights in that he could actually speak. He seemed to go through remnants of emotion, but only of laughter and pleasure at the torture he was bestowing upon Sam. At first Sam had cried and begged as Glokta ripped his flesh in strips and handed it to the Others to feed upon. Eventually he could no longer even make a sound.

"You see Sam, those other cows will only be our feast as soon as we are done with you. You're different from them fatman. I can see the tortured soul inside of you. I can see your pain. That pain will help you help us. We intend to take the world. We intend to bring winter to all for it is coming, boy."

Glokta took a dull knife and ran it along Sam's cheek delicately. He continued on telling Sam the more pain he endured, the better he'd be as a leader. He sliced at Sam's cheek, pulling skin from bone and snacking on all the bits. At each whimper, Glokta would cock his head at Sam and ask if he had something he'd like to share with the class. Sam was going to be his masterpiece he said as he picked up some pliers.

"You know, I have never understood what nipples are for on men. It seems that no matter how many I remove, the gods are not taking the hint. What do you think Sam? Hmmmm? Anything to add to that?" Glokta teased as he pushed the pliers down to Sam's sternum and twisted with all the might of a cripple.

The nipple came off in a torn mess and in more than one try while Glokta laughed maniacally and proceeded to do it to the other one. By now, Tarley was a bloody mess. He was hardly recognizable as the massive man he once was. His eyes were growing more dead by the second and Glokta could see the glassy appearance.

"Oh nononono Ser Piggy. I have one more torture in store for you, ser. I think that you need to smile. You need to show those beautiful teeth of yours. I will never have a smile as beautiful as yours, fatman."

Glokta took a strange instrument which could be likened to pliers and began to carve into Sam's lips. Sam's eyes widened as he strained and strained against the bonds that held him, feeling the pain course through his entire face. He flinched as he watched Glokta pull his top lip off his face and slowly begin to eat it. He teased it with his tongue and nibbled at it until he finally just slid it into his mouth and swallowed. Author's note: That's what he said! How's that for sensual cannibalism! Glokta laughed merrily and proceeded with Sam's bottom lip. The result was the grin of eternity. Sam had slipped into unconsciousness during the entire process, leaving Glokta feeling as if his time with him had been a bit anti-climatic. No matter. He knew that the tortured soul within Sam would find it's way out and devour this sweet summer. He motioned to his hoard and told them to bleed Sam out so he could return to them and bring a winter storm.

"You may eat the other cows when you have finished," Glokta said.

Glokta chuckled to himself as he felt the large white beast push up against his leg. He patted his head as the arrow in the eye socket of the great dire wolf bounced merrily in tune with the destruction of life.


	16. Chapter 16

Jon reached the horses with Grenn and Pyp in seconds from fleeing. They had been traveling for almost an hour as Jon sat silently on his garron, his brain trying to process the fact that Ghost was gone. He yanked back on the mouth of the horse and dismounted, glancing around the still cold forest. The quiet of the woods a gross distance from the continuously growing thoughts in his head.

Jon stood on the side of the stocky horse._ 'Ghost is gone. He is gone. He's gone gone gone gone gone gone gone.'_ The tumultuous (what what!) thoughts washed through the dark haired boys like the waves on the iron islands, thundering loudly as they tore down everything in their way, eroded his sense of self preservation and crumbled his logic.

" I can't leave Ghost!"

"Its too late fer the wolf Jon! Its too late for Sam. We need to get back now," Pyp's voice squeaked at an unnaturally soprano tone, his eyes bulging in terror as he stared at his suddenly panicked friend.

_'Sam...'_ Jon's brain slammed to a halt. He grabbed the reins of the garron and flung himself over the saddle and jerked the horse around roughly. The rust colored horse's nostrils flared in terror and confusion as he was kicked back toward the smell of death.

Somewhere in the back of Jon's mind he could hear Grenn and Pyp calling out to him. It did not matter. He drove the horse forward toward the cavern at break neck speed. Jon did not stop as he drove his leg into the beast's flanks and whipped him with the reins severely. The poor creature struggled with the thickness of the snow, his legs growing tired, his lungs straining to comply with his cruel masters wishes. The obsequious garron did not stop, not until he plummeted down the pit in the cavern, his legs and neck breaking as he slammed into the cold rock floor below.

The body of the horse smashed several of the death things into the cave floor as it landed. Jon had dismounted and rolled away from the horse as it began its suicide mission. He jumped up, fueled with a fevered rage he could not control, his lust for revenge dampening his fear of the Wights before him. Brandishing his sword, he struck their heads from their body's. He killed everything in his path. He did not distinguish the mewling craven wildlling captives from the ice-like Others. He would kill everything. He hacked at their limbs and smashed through their spines, the Valyrian steel cutting through the frozen dead and pink blood-filled flesh alike with ease.

Lord Snow stood back and surveyed the damage he had done on the enemy forces. Blood and gore mixed with the blue-black insides of the others in an obscene painting of carnage. There had been eight others with as many wildling captives, he had leveled them all. He turned silently, trying to locate the object of desires. His eye came to rest on the bloody pulsating mess the was Samwell Tarley. The fat man's face a disturbing caricature of what he once was.

Jon walked over to Sam, sheathing his sword and stared at the boy on the table in front of him. Sam had one eye opened and was watching Jon, blood dripping like a line of drool through the gaping wound that was now his mouth.

"Jon hellp mee..." the fat man's voice sounded like the rustling of dry leaves. He did not have much more time in this world. Jon would take advantage of what he had.

"Help you Sam?" whispered Jon close to Sam's ear. The fat boy quivered and attempted to nod, only causing more blood to spill down his body.

Jon pulled out the knife he kept in his belt. You could never have too many knives someone had once told him. He cut the bindings on Sam's head, arms and legs and motioned for Sam to try to get up.

Sam tried to move his body, it would not move. The only thing he could feel was the coldness and the darkness slowly descending on him. He cried out and reached to Jon. Jon came for him. Jon would help him. Jon would save him. It would all be alright again. They could go back to the way it was. Everything would be ok.

A knew pain lanced through Sam's chest as he looked down to see the hilt of Jon's dagger buried in his flesh stabbing into his heart. Confusion poured through him as he grasped at Jon's hands around the dagger and raised his eyes up to Jon's face.

Jon stared down at Sam's trembling body, the fat boys eyes locked on his.

"You were the worst mistake of my life." He slammed the dagger up into the mans chest roughly causing a gurgle of pain to slip from Sam's mouth.

Sam watched as his blood pumped out of his body over Jon's gloved hand. His body had grown cold, his eye-sight was fading. The only thing he could focus on was the intense betrayal he felt at the hands of the man he loved. He only ever wanted to make Jon happy. He would have given Jon anything he wanted. He would have died for him, but not like this. Not like this.

* * *

Glokta stood behind the small concealed door and watched as Jon came to free Sam. He was not worried. The Tarly man was far far from beyond saving, so he held his hand up to the wights behind him, urging them to stay quiet, commanding them to stay back.

His mouth twisted into a disgusting grin as the fates aided him in his path to mold Sam's death to mirror the tragic life he had lived._ 'Ooo a lovers quarrel, how exciting!'_ He listened to Jon's harsh words as he jammed the dagger deeper into his lover's chest.

Glokta turned around, his new white shadow pacing beside him as he made his way out of the tunneled hallway, the wights behind him following subserviently. As he emerged from the tunnel, he came out into the cold brisk air of the North. It did not effect him at all. He rubbed his blue mottled hands together as he gazed out over the view before him. Legions of Others were clamored together in the snow-filled valley, awaiting the Rise of their new commander.

Glokta thought back to the dagger that had been neatly inserted into Sam's chest._ 'Not long now..not long now at all and we will have our fearless leader...I tremble with anticipation'_ His grotesque smile creeped up on his horrid features once more.

* * *

Jon stared at the dieing body of his once friend with abhorrence and turned and walked away, leaving the man to die alone. _'No less then he deserves.'_

Lord Snow continued his journey back to the wall slowly following the deep trenches he left with the garron on the way there. Sometime during the frozen night, a patrol of rangers found him and escorted him back to the wall. He told them of a rescue mission gone wrong. He told them how he went to save Sam but it was too late, the boy was already dead. He told of how he avenged his friend's death by killing the Wights that took his life.

The Nights Watch consoled him on the loss of his good friend Sam. They congratulated him on his revenge. He was what the night watch stood for, a man of unquestionable Loyalty to his brothers. He was a Hero. He was also a liar.


	17. Chapter 17

The next morning Jon awoke to a commotion in the yard. He got up and checked the window, seeing a strange-looking group of travelers unloading a wagon and their mounts. He felt terrible about the previous days' events, but knew that was his burden to carry now. He must use that hate to fuel his own purposes, wherever they led.

By the time he was dressed and made his way down to the dining hall, one of the new arrivals, an old, bearded and bald fellow was arguing loudly with Lord Mormont over their breakfast. Seconds later, the old man clapped his hands quickly, a snap-crack that almost sounded like thunder it was so loud. The hall instantly quieted, all eyes turning to the man.

"Enough of this blather. Consult with your Maester if you don't believe me - either way, I don't really care - the fact is I am taking over this joke of a garrison you have here. My companions and I have much to do, so you will start behaving like a man and quit mewling like a babe before I get irate." Mormont looked furious, but held his tongue. "Maybe you do have some sense," the old man went on, "Ok everyone, listen up. I am Bayaz, First of the Magi. And I have come to save your worthless selves."

* * *

Sam blinked. _I blinked?_ _I have no eyelids anymore, how can I blink?_ He tried to glance down, but he wasn't in control of his eyes, or anything else it seemed. His hand raised to his field of vision of its own accord. It was hardly more than a bloody cudgel, fingers twisted and broken, bone sticking out, dried blood everywhere, and what ragged flesh the Others hadn't merrily feasted upon just barely clinging on to the arm. _Oh my gods. What.. what happened... Jon. _As the memories slowly reared their ugly head, Sam whimpered in his mind's eye, his third eye, the only place he had left. His body sat up, his mouth opened and a low cough barked out. _I thought I was in hell before, how could I have been so wrong?_

His broken body stumbled off the rack and made its way outside, Sam helplessly trapped and unable to do anything but watch in horror at the sights, one after another. Thousands of wights were gathered in ranks, an army... a cold, dead army. Most were grouped into small clusters around tents. Strange that, Sam thought... why would these dead things ever need a tent?

"Ahhh, our guest of honor has arisen! Good morning fatman! Care to break your fast?" The cripple giggled manically and held out a plate filled with... sausages? Sam tried to reach, but nothing happened. _Even trapped in my own mind, after all the horrors_, _I still need my morning meat... how proud my father would be_, he sobbed inwardly to himself. "These are choice morsels, harvested just this morning from your former cellmates... no? Hm... all the more for the named men," Glokta turned and took one of the fingers to munch on for himself while the camp arose.

A short time later, a handful of large men made their way to a battered old table someone had set up and took their seats, Glokta and Sam remained standing. These ones were different, Sam could instantly see. Not mindless creatures like most of the wights, these men had their faculties about them still. And he knew them. Gods, did he... just a fortnight ago he had seen their faces while researching for Maester Aemon. How though? These men were ancients, legends, dead for thousands and thousands of years. He tried to look and study them closer, but his body still would not respond. Nevertheless, he could see them. Black Dow. Dogman. Harding Grim. Tul Duru Thunderhead. Shivers. They all frightened him, _which is funny, why be so afraid after all I've just been through?_

"Well, let's not waste time gentlemen. We have a long march ahead of us today, and I just can't wait to get moving!" Glokta cackled. He tossed the rest of the fingers to the table and they all grabbed a few to snack on, all but Shivers. He just stared at Glokta with his one good eye and said nothing. "This lovely lad here beside me is the new vessel. I trust you all will not let any harm come to the host? Well.. any more harm. We had to have some fun, and his boy lover got a bit carried away," he laughed and poked Sam near the chest. The body looked down and Sam was finally able to see the dagger Jon had driven into him, straight into his soul, still sticking out awkwardly from his chest.

"That fat tub of lard looks like a bigger coward than Forley the Weakest. How could he ever act as the vessel?" Dow growled. The others inspected Sam more closely. Thunderhead just made a low deep noise, maybe a cough. Dogman and Grim both looked skeptical themselves. And the one called Shivers still just gave that blank stare with his one remaining eye. "Nononono, how many times do I need to tell you dolts? It's all about emotional trauma. The host body doesn't matter, I just need their broken mind. It's taken a good while to find the perfect one this time, and I have him centered now, his pain and suffering in perfect balance, and just enough of his mind left to realize what is happening to him. And not being able to do a thing, it makes the connection that much stronger. Do I need to go over this with you every damn time?" Dogman grinned at the once-mighty Black Dow being lambasted by the cripple. Dow snarled and made to reach for a knife, but a hand grasped his arm stopping him dead. Shivers just stared at him and pulled him to his feet, pushing him off a ways. "Enough talk. Let's move," he flatly stated.

Glokta sighed as the others started gathering up their various weaponry and wares. The march to the wall would take a few days at least, plenty of time to figure out the details along the way. Still.. he thought to himself, _Why do I do this?_

* * *

Maester Aemon was the only one who seemed to garner any respect from Bayaz. The others he just ordered around like dogs. Mormont had assigned Jon to steward for Bayaz's needs while he did whatever the hell he was planning on doing. "I believe in many of the old tales and legends, but the Practicals? Even I find it hard to believe the black brothers are descendants of such a mythical order," Aemon said. Bayaz and his bushy eyebrows glanced around at him, "It's true... as true as anything is in these times. Thousands of years ago I built this wall to keep out the riff raff, once I saw where they were heading with their new supposed leader."

Jon said, "Brandon the Builder built the wall, everyone knows that. He was a Stark, mine own blood." He didn't want any part of this Magi's lies. Bayaz turned to him and gave Jon a scrutinizing look, "Of course he did... one of my many faces. Now, why don't you make yourself useful and shut your face, bastard?" Flustered, Jon was about to draw steel before Aemon gently placed a hand on his arm. "Do as he says Jon. We need to know what is happening, don't act the fool," he whispered to him.

Bayaz began circumnavigating the room, picking up various baubles and potions, putting them down, occasionally secreting one about his person. While he gathered up the various supplies he filled them in, at least with what he wanted them to know.

"The Practicals used to be simple thugs and torturers, but after that damn cripple's wife was murdered, he started looking into the dark arts. Breaking the Second Law. His own mind broke generations ago, yet he maintains an aspect of his former self and is bent on revenge. I don't know who killed his lady wife - one of the few things I can't claim knowledge of - but he does and, ever since, he and his black brothers - as he used to call them - started consuming the flesh of men. He is set on bringing about the old legend. The Night of Long Winter, where the Summer never returns and cold reigns supreme for all times. He even has brought back many of the famous named men of old with his dark art, some you may know of Maester. Everyone throughout the land used to know their names, but I made sure that ended long ago. Now only the most dedicated might find a reference or three of them. I had scrubbed their names from the world, just like the cities that used to stand here... but it doesn't matter now. All ancient history. They are coming soon, a few days at the most and they will be here."

A sharp knock at the door and a young man entered. He addressed the Magi, "The others have arrived sir. Ms. Maljinn is causing quite a ruckus with the one they call Ser Alliser. She bit off his ear when he suggested something rather crude she should do with her spear." Bayaz chuckled and they all made their way out to the yard. Ser Alliser was rolling around on the ground, screaming curses, "Fucking cunt ripped off my GODS DAMNED EAR. She needs to be in a fucking cage!" Ferro just stood there and laughed, giving him an occasional sharp kick to his feeble manhood.

"Ferro dear, how lovely of you to join us. I wasn't sure the calling would have worked." Bayaz gave a querying look. Ferro turned, her nostrils flared. "Pink. Should have known this was your doing. Bald bastard. I dislike being summoned, especially by the spirits. It stings, and not in a good way. And you know how he feels about all this shit."

"I had no choice..." Bayaz seemed unsure of himself for the first time Jon could remember. "He did come didn't he?"

A heavy hand settled on his shoulder. "I came old man. You know my thoughts on such things... and once you've got a task to do, it's better to do it than live with the fear of it."


End file.
